Did Grandma ever tell you of her patchwork quilt
that lies across the sofa in her room?
It was made of scraps from dresses
that she wore when she was young
and some of them were woven in a loom.
On days when it is raining and I can't play out of
doors she lets me spread it out upon the floor.
And as I choose the pieces that I want to hear about
she tells me of the dresses that she wore.
Oh, things were very wonderful when Grandma was
young. You ought to hear her tell about it all.
The ladies were beautiful, the children oh so good
and the men were so gallant and so tall.
She calls the quilt her memory bed and every little
piece is a flower blooming in a scented fold.
There are red ones for the roses, blues for the don't
forgets and yellow for the sunflower of gold.
There's one she calls sweet lavender
that smells like baby clothes
and one of purple like the sunset skies.
I never ask about these or the gray ones like the rain
for when I do, dear Grandma always cries.
My Grandma told me once that life is just a
patchwork quilt of births, marriage and things.
And sometimes when we're looking for a lovely piece
of red we only find a knot of faded strings.
But she said the brown is brighter when it is by a piece
of red and the gray is not so gray by sunny gold.
Oh, I hope I'll have a lovely patchwork quilt like
Grandma's to show to little children when I'm old!
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